


A Night at the Opera

by Hermonthis



Category: Storm Hawks
Genre: Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, One Shot, Parent-Child Relationship, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermonthis/pseuds/Hermonthis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Master Cyclonis studies a mirror of herself one generation before. "Mother."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night at the Opera

**Author's Note:**

> Written March 17, 2010. Inspired by midare_shinami's (of Livejournal) artwork of Master Cyclonis. It made me think of Queen's _Bohemian Rhapsody_ and Marlene Dietrich
> 
>  _Lakmé_ is an opera by Léo Delibes. The name itself is derived from the name _Lakshmi_ , Hindu goddess of wealth, love, and prosperity. She is the wife of the god Vishnu, and is always his partner in their various incarnations. She is the embodiment of beauty.

  
And out of all the women in this half-unexplored world, this one had to be her mother. Master Cyclonis _( empress, daughter, monster, child_ ) stared hard at one of the few remaining portraits of the previous Master Cyclonis - Ruler of Cyclonia for seven days. Dark purple eyes pierced the canvas, almost willed it to life.

The Seven Days Queen. Most history books gave her a paragraph more than her father, if only for the mere reason she outlived him a week before her private execution. A born royal on her knees, surrounded by less than a fistful of government officials and public correspondents.

What else was she known for? Executed for? Her inability to compromise with Lightning Strike, paper-cut hero of the Republic of Atmosia.

Her name. _Lakmé_. She who carried out the dying wish of her Emperor. Rumoured to have been a conspirator of her own. Born heiress. Queen.

Mother of One.

A much younger Cyclonis surveyed the contrasting black and white portrait with keen eyes. The starkness of the figure, the inborn ability to command. The false symmetry of the woman's face and yet the unusual garment of dark flowers over her right shoulder. Maybe poppies. Almost feminine.

(Cyclonis corrected herself and concluded if the cloth was worn by any other woman it would be considered dully feminine. A sign of weakening beauty. But on her, it became a symbol of strength.)

The child opened her eyes, took a step back and inhaled the picture with the entire capacity of her growing teenage lungs. Strength. Power. Status. If pictures captured a fragment of the soul, then she was trying to absorb it.

Master Cyclonis. Her mother. She was right there.

And her daughter was here.

Here and there, signs of a female. The beaded headdress, the drop pearl necklace, the fitted bodice. A woman, much too young to die and far too mature for her age, she knew who she had to be.

A silent one-way conversation between a parent and child.

_Knew who she had to be._

Hours passed. The hazy, red sun began to set upon the Cyclonian Empire and the daughter was done here. Nothing else could be learned from the picture, other than the hunt for the artist chosen to immortalize the selective memory of a mother.

The Dark Ace returned to her after supervising the inevitable conquer of yet another Atmosian terra. He asked his Master Cyclonis what her day consisted of.

She replied, "Looking at a mirror of myself."

He seemed confused, opened his mouth to clarify the riddle.

A finger raised for silence and no questions came. There was no puzzle.


End file.
